Retirement
by BeshterAngelus
Summary: Albus Dumbledore has no desire to see his Potions Master go...but can he talk him into staying?


**Retirement**

"I wish you would reconsider, Horace," the tall, thin, crooked nosed man in the corner sighed as he watched his companion skillfully maneuver one antique Queen Anne writing desk, one overstuffed upholstered arm chair, and a cask of fine Mediterranean wine into a crate that looked impossible to hold the contents going inside. The other man was short, round, with a balding patch of silvery blonde hair and a great mustache that twitched with exasperation. He merely waved his wand at the items as they neatly filed inside. It was plain he was ignoring his companion's comments.

The first gentleman, silver haired and gazing sadly through half moon spectacles continued as if he was holding a normal conversation. "You are needed, Horace, your talents are still of great use to the student body here. Imagine the waste of such opportunity under any other professor of Potions. I mean, there could be any number of future hopefuls in the batch, Quidditch players, Ministry officials, celebrities…"

"Stop it, Albus, I said no, and I mean it." This comment apparently had gotten through as the cask sloshed drunkenly against the armchair, threatening to tip and smash the barrel to bits. "You know what they say, 'the time has come' and all that." Horace Slughorn sighed wearily as he turned to his long time friend and one time employer, Albus Dumbledore.

"Besides, I'm tired, Albus," he said in exhaustion. "And so are you, I see it. This war, it took a great deal out of you, no matter how you try to hide it with your strange ways and twinkling eyes. Most of the students just take you for mad, but I know better." Slughorn cocked one fine, graying brow over an all too perceptive eye, "admit it, Albus, two dark wizards in a lifetime have taken a lot out of you."

Dumbledore, tall and rather magnificent looking in magenta robes, merely shrugged. "One does what one must, Horace that is what I've done. I don't think it's a matter of being tired or not."

Slughorn snorted derisively as he returned his wand to managing the slowly moving furniture in his packing cases. "Pity me leaving, though. Now with things calmed down I would have had a fine crop of new ones, wouldn't I?" He chuckled to himself, but there was a tone of sadness beneath the apparent self-interest.

"Of course, in years to come there will be so many promising ones." Dumbledore answered casually as he began toying with a tassel on a floating, velvet lampshade. "Many of your former students have children waiting to get into Hogwarts. There is any number of Ministry children coming up."

"Ministry children are a dime a dozen," Slughorn shrugged. "Why Arthur Weasley's brood alone has so many I would run out of boons just on them."

"I hear that two or three society children are coming up here soon."

"Yes, there are those, but most of them are priggish brats. The last decent ones with half a brain were the Black boys, and you see what happened with them. All I'm left with are the nitwit heiresses of inbred family lines, and that brand new whelp of Lucius Malfoy's, and he's little more than an infant. And with a parentage such as his, I'd rather eat gillyweed and take up with the Merfolk." Slughorn had some contact with the Malfoys, it was known, but apparently little use for the current head of the Manor.

"There is," Dumledore started softly, watching Slughorn out of the corner of his eyes, "one other child who will be coming through to Hogwarts in a few years. One you might very well be interested in."

Horace Slughorn was no fool, and he turned to glare at Dumbledore, his face red. "Don't you dare, Albus Dumbledore, I know what you are up to," his voice was low and menacing.

"You can't tell me that 'The Boy Who Lived' wouldn't interest you as a prize amongst your pets?" Albus responded mildly.

"I can't believe you are so low as to even bring that up, Albus, you of all people," Slughorn continued to rant.

"Well, I told you, one does what one must, and I want you here, Horace."

"But YOU know how to use that little tantalizing morsel, you know how much I would be interested," Horace spat out. "The most famous boy in generations, the one who destroyed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a boy who will already be in the history books before he can walk properly, a boy who…"

"Is the son of Lily Evans," dropped Dumbledore, shrugging, as he pretended to be interested in a book of Alchemy in a stack of Slughorn's belongings sitting beside him.

Slughorn stopped, staring at Dumbledore for the briefest of moments, stunned into silence. But he was quick to recover as he cleared his throat. "Yes, Lily's son." His mustache twitched ever so slightly on his round face.

"He's quite a pretty little child, young Harry. Looks most remarkably like James, you know. Save his eyes, though, those are…"

"His mother's, I know. Lily brought him by one day for me to see." Slughorn's voice sounded slightly choked and a little strained. "Rather a cute tyke, I must admit, for being James Potter's progeny."

"Yes, he is." Dumbledore own voice sounded grave and sad.

"Pity you had to place him with Lily's sister, I heard from her the woman is awful." Slughorn sniffed loudly, and cleared his throat. "She shan't care for the boy, not like he needs, not like his mother would have."

"I know, Horace, but one can hope, can't they?"

"Always were an optimist, weren't you Albus, thinking the best of people. It will trip you up one day, mark my words." Slughorn shook a finger at him, shaking his balding head. "Besides, enticing me with Lily's son won't keep me any longer."

"I know you were rather taken with her, Horace," Albus flipped the book to the back, casually perusing the final pages. "Even I could tell that, despite all your talk of favorites."

Slughorn's face turned a shade of pink, though he didn't appear to be ashamed. "I'm an old man, Albus, and one who hasn't had much pleasure in my life." This he uttered solemnly as a box of crystallized pineapple whizzed past his ear. "Besides, you know I'm the soul of discretion. Lily was a bright girl, a popular girl, look at all the boys she had about her. And she takes off with the bravest, most popular of the lot. No, not even I was immune to her charms, Albus. Perhaps, I felt…well, if I had been blessed with a daughter, or even a niece, she would have been much like Lily Evans herself."

"She did have that effect on people, didn't she?"

"Yes, that she did." Slughorn said softly, a sad look in his beady eyes. "Ahh, well Albus, I'll always have my pets, and my comforts. But I can have a weakness I suppose, and Lily was mine. I suppose that's why it hurt so much when…she…died." He looked down quickly, seemingly interested in his rather heavily brocaded shoes.

"If you stay, Horace, there will be other Lily's, and other students. And perhaps there will be some others who make you just as proud as Ms. Evans did."

Slughorn sighed, a deep, low sigh then, his shoulders slumping. "No, Albus, I'm done. I don't see how you could do it year after year, watching good witches and wizards you taught die like that. And still you persevere. But I suppose that's the Gryffindor in you. The Slytherin in me is a bit battered and what not. No, I need to go now. I need to see to my private pursuits. Perhaps, after a while, with things quiet, I'll forget that I saw everything fall apart. I'll live placid, happy days with my friends and admirers about. You should try it sometime, you know Albus."

"I suppose I should, but I'm afraid it doesn't suit me, Horace. I'd get rather bored of crystallized pineapple after a while."

Slughorn chuckled softly. "Yes, well, I suppose you would."

The two men were quiet as Slughorn packed the last of his things, the last packing crate groaning under the weight of his large, bookcase and feathered canopy bed. Slughorn placed an extra binding charm on the wood to ensure it stayed in one piece to his destination, and turned to Dumbledore, who still was flipping through the moldy, alchemy textbook with interest.

"Really, Albus, I was trying to ensure everything was put away," he grumbled, eyeing the book in the taller man's hand.

"Yes, but I have just gotten to the part where Lucretia declares her undying love to Rinaldo, and they plan on whisking away on his Magic Carpet," Dumbledore replied happily, as Slughorn's eyes went wide, and he made a grab for the book.

"I thought I had hidden that one as an alchemy book, that's a present from Rosalind Devereaux, a very good friend of mine."

"I gathered from the, 'to Horace, my Rinaldo' in the front. Horace, I'd never have thought of you on a Magic Carpet."

Slughorn again grabbed for the book and this time was successful in his attempt. "Yes, well I said I haven't had MUCH pleasure, not that I haven't had any." He quickly stuffed the book into one of his travel valises.

"Well, Albus, I best be off. The Express is taking my things to London where I'm having them shipped to Dorchester, and I'm Apparating there right now to ready the place." He stood in front of his old friend and gazed up at him inquiringly. "So, got a replacement for me yet, or were you hoping that I'd say I'd stay?"

"I had surmised that you might not, and have already found a young man who might be suitable. You remember Severus Snape."

Slughorn wrinkled his nose in irritation, and it was clear he did remember the youth. "Oh yes, he rather liked to show me up in my Potions class. He's brilliant, no doubt, but such a conceited arse. Really, do you think with his checkered past and that ego he's good to have around the children?"

"Everyone deserves a second chance, Horace, even 'conceited arses'. Dumbledore chuckled softly. "The boy needs someone to believe in him for once, and I figure since you couldn't be bothered with the job…."

"What you mean is you'd rather him in my dungeon than teaching Defense, right?" Slughorn shrugged good-naturedly and laughed. "And yet you still fight to keep me on here. I'll never begin figuring you out, Albus, I really won't."

"I'm not that difficult, Horace, you'd surprise yourself."

"Yes, I imagine I would." Horace Slughorn grinned, bowing his head ever so slightly to the Headmaster. "I'll be off then, Albus. If you are ever bored here in your musty castle, let me know. I'll whip up a party in your honor."

"I'll be sure to keep my invitation open then," Dumbledore responded mildly, smiling in way of goodbye. "Take care then, Horace, and if you should ever get the notion…

"I won't," Slughorn said emphatically as he made his way to the door.

"Very well," Dumbledore called, watching the fat little man make his way out the door, his crates bouncing along out behind him.


End file.
